


Chane Laforet and Claire Stanfield go to a circus.

by Barkour



Series: Red All Over [1]
Category: Baccano!
Genre: 1930s, Canon - Anime, F/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-14
Updated: 2010-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chane had never before attended the circus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chane Laforet and Claire Stanfield go to a circus.

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after the anime, while Chane and Claire are still in the whole kind of sort of dating stage of things.

Chane had never before attended the circus.

"This guy's no good," said Claire. He shifted, restless beside her. The trapeze act upset him. "Look, see how he's landing. He's putting his weight down all wrong."

In the hot, glaring lights of the ring, the man upon the platform raised his arms high. His skin was bright with sweat; he breathed heavily. Unsteadily. Applause rose like a cloud to fill the arena.

Claire shook the bag of popcorn he'd bought from a seller outside the tent, a rotund man with a wide face who had looked at Chane as if she weren't there. She was accustomed to such.

Claire cracked kernels between his molars. His teeth flashed between his lips.

"Probably what's gonna happen is he's gonna keep landing on his feet wrong. He'll weaken his ankles, right?" His watch shone on his wrist as he gestured. The muscle at the joint was strong, but lean. "And what happens after that is, he falls." He cracked another kernel between his teeth. The snap of his molars was clean in her ear. "Professionals don't fall in the show. If he falls, he better do it in rehearsals."

She supposed that was true. Foolish, to overlook such a thing, so simple and so necessary to the trapeze artist's line of work. Unprofessional. She pursed her lips slightly, pulling to the left.

"That's what _I_ thought!" said Claire. He shook the popcorn bag again. "Here, you want some?"

She looked to him. Claire smiled in the dark. The corners of his eyes widened. A peculiarity, how he opened his eyes when he smiled. It made him look demented. That silly fluff of hair at the front of his face had fallen red across his right eye. His hair was longer now than it had been when they had first met, but then his face was cleaner.

Chane took three pieces of the corn, to Claire's delight, and ate them. She made a face. She covered her mouth and looked down to the bag.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "They're, uh, covered with caramel. I guess you don't like caramel, huh?"

She held her hand at her mouth a moment longer, as she swallowed. Her face smoothed. She lowered her hand.

"Listen, I can go get you some regular popcorn if you want. You want butter?" He rose.

She followed the movement of him, not meaning to. His face, turned down to hers, was thin and open. His shirt, so neatly pressed, lay flat against his chest. The hollow of his throat was dark. She lowered her eyes to the arena. She shook her head once, lightly.

He sat down again beside her. Chane folded her hands together in her lap. The spotlight in the ring settled on a woman in a spangled red dress far to the right. Beside Chane, Claire rested his arms on his knees. His shoulder brushed hers. She didn't pull away.

The smell of the circus was overpowering: sweat, dirt, the heat and stink of animals, the ripeness of the man who sat before her. Claire smelled of soap, a plain kind. She looked at him sidelong through her lashes, considering. He shifted; his throat tensed. The corner of his mouth was puffed out, as if he were a child holding his breath.

Her mouth was sweet with caramel. There was a piece of shell wedged between two of her teeth; it pressed sharp into her gum. She touched her tongue to it.

Chane set her hand upon the inside of his elbow. Claire straightened. She faced the arena and not him, aware, too much so, of the muscle in his elbow tightening beneath her fingers and the warmth of his skin through his shirt. She nodded once. Claire relaxed.

"This lady's not so bad," he said. "At least she knows what she's doing. You see how she's sticking her landings?"

Chane saw.


End file.
